


We need to talk

by UnproblematicMe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Confessions, Insecurity, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: Short story for the server prompt "Confessions".Watch Crowley overthinking and misunderstanding.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 120
Collections: Good Omens Fic Writers Workshop: Weekly Prompts





	We need to talk

“We need to talk.”

The words still rang in Crowley’s head. He knew what this meant. Of course he did. He was not an idiot. Well, maybe he was. After all he had told himself it could work. Aziraphale and he, together, a couple.

To be fair, for a while it had. Worked. Not much had changed compared to their clandestine meetings in the past. Only they were no longer clandestine, more frequent and Aziraphale and Crowley did not part ways after going out. They resided to one of their homes for cosy evenings and passionate nights.

Still. Crowley should have known. Aziraphale was an angel. A smart one. Sooner or later he must have noticed that he was too good for a stupid demon.

They could stay friends, right? Yes, at least that. A world completely without Aziraphale was not worth living in. But it would be hard after tasting what it meant to have Aziraphale completely to go back to their old modus operandi.

But Crowley could manage. For Aziraphale he could do anything.

Would Aziraphale date other people? Would Crowley have to watch other men touching his angel? Or women? Well, no, okay, that was ridiculous. But other men? Jealousy was eating Crowley alive at the mere thought of it.

Groaning he let his forehead fall against the window. Crowley hoped his angel had thought of his umbrella. It was raining cats and dogs. Large drops ran along the spotless glass of the window, blurring the view on a grey London afternoon. Crowley stared unblinking towards the street. Waiting. Waiting for Aziraphale. Waiting for the words. Waiting for the inevitable.

Aziraphale had not wanted to have his say over the phone. Of course not. Aziraphale was a kind soul. He would do his best to let Crowley down easy. Find sweet and gentle words to soothe the heartbreak. Only, there was no balm for the wound that was losing Aziraphale.

Crowley knew that because he had suffered this wound before. Well, thinking about it: there was a balm to the wound of losing Aziraphale – getting him back.

Yes, break ups were not forever, right? Millions of humans split up and got back together. Crowley would accept it like an adult, stifle his jealousy at other suitors, prove over time that he could be more than a stupid demon (he just had to find out how) and win Aziraphale back! Right. This would work. Could work. Maybe.

A knock ended Crowley’s hypothetical ponderings. It became very real now. He swallowed and went to open the door.

As expected, Aziraphale stood on the other side with a careful smile. Wet blond hair clung to his forehead, his coat was drenched and he had left puddles in the hallway.

“Hello, dear.”

Crowley sighed. With a snap of his fingers he fixed the mess before Aziraphale stepped in.

“Where is your umbrella, angel?”

“Uh, I gave it away,” Aziraphale said casually.

“Of course you did.” Crowley awkwardly stood in his own flat, trying to avoid Aziraphale’s gaze. “You… erm… wanted to talk?”

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale said. “It’s rather urgent, but I kept stalling.”

Crowley swallowed.

“Oh?” _Stay calm. Take it like a man… demon… stable person... just take it._

“Yes, it is not easy, you see,” Aziraphale said, fiddling with the sleeve of his coat. “I have a confession to make.”

“I’m listening.” _Let him go now. Win him back later._

“Right, I…” Aziraphale began.

_No tears, no fight, just be an adult. Don’t put pressure on him._

“I…” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I hate your flat!”

Crowley blinked.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, dearest! But it’s so impersonal and cold and creepy. So much space and so little furniture. Frankly, it reminds me of Heaven. Only there is not so much disturbing art upstairs. Your plant room would be nice, if not for the horror and fear emanating from the poor things. And being proud of yourself is one thing, having a whole of seven mirrors in the bedroom another. Oh, and don’t get me started on your kitchen…”

“You hate my flat?” Crowley repeated.

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

“And this is what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said quickly. “Look, Mayfair is lovely, the apartment’s layout is very nice, but we need more furniture, love. Chairs that are actually comfortable to sit in, bookshelves, books of course, plants without mortal fear, more colour, maybe…hmmpf.”

Crowley interrupted Aziraphale with a rough kiss.

“Whatever you wish, angel!” he said when he pulled away after a while. “I want you to feel at home here.”

Aziraphale looked relieved.

“Thank you, dear,” he said with a smile. “I feared you might say I’m overthinking.”

Laughing Crowley buried his face in the slope of Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, dove,” he chuckled. “I emphasise with overthinkers.”

The End


End file.
